


Jagged Soul

by Youremyalways



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Bunker, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Season 15, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youremyalways/pseuds/Youremyalways
Summary: “Sam was normally the poster boy for precaution. He never failed to think out every move, weigh the risks, and make the best choice… but for the past two weeks, he’s been making rash decisions and executing choices that put him at higher risk than necessary. It was really, really pissing Dean off. It’s one thing to get killed by a monster. It’s another thing entirely to be killed by your own stupidity. So yeah, Dean’s mad. Dammit, he’s pissed.But then he watches Sam wince or hears him groan as he clutches his gut and all the anger melts away into pure concern. One thing at a time.”
Relationships: Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester & Castiel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Jagged Soul

It smelled better in the bunker, at least. 

The car was brimming with the potent stench of blood; an odor not unlike the scent of crumbling, orange rust spreading over metal. Oh, Dean would kill his brother if leaving the windows down for a few hours didn’t clear the smell. He hadn’t even checked whether or not his brother’s blood was all over the passenger’s seat- he was too scared. Blood didn’t wash off of leather easy, and plus, he had more important things to worry about than a stain. In particular, the wound that caused the stain and started this whole mess in the first place.

Sam was acting like it was nothing, but he had his right hand clutched to his abdomen so tight you’d think it was the only thing holding in his guts, and there was thick, burgundy blood seeping through the gaps between his fingers. His face was growing paler and paler by the second and every step he took was remarkably akin to a limp. Dean honestly didn’t know how they made it to the bunker without Sam passing out cold, nevermind the med bay. 

He kept trying to remind himself that he was mad. No, he was downright pissed. Not two hours ago he and his brother were fighting a ghoul that kidnapped some waitress’ kids. The case seemed pretty cut and dry- find the monster, kill it, save the kids. But at some point halfway through the hunt, Sam decided to jump out in front of the ghoul’s knife to block the sucker from getting into the hallway (which led to where the kids were, three doors down). He had at least twenty or thirty seconds to formulate a better plan, but he put himself unnecessarily in harm's way and it almost (and still freaking could) cost him his life.

It hadn’t just been today, either. His little brother was normally the poster boy for precaution. Sam never failed to think out every move, weigh the risks, and make the best choice… but for the past two weeks, he’s been making rash decisions and executing choices that put him at higher risk than necessary. It was really,  _ really  _ pissing Dean off. It’s one thing to get killed by a monster. It’s another thing entirely to be killed by your own stupidity. So yeah, he’s mad. Dammit, he’s pissed.

But then he watches Sam wince or hears him groan as he clutches his gut and all the anger melts away into pure concern. One thing at a time.

“Alright, lie down sasquatch.” Dean murmured as he tossed his duffle bag down onto the concrete floor and gently pushed Sam’s back towards the gurney in the middle of the room.

“Dude, it’s fine.” Sam brushed him off with a roll of his eyes and a wave of the hand not clutching his gut, “I can take care of it.”

“Dude,” Dean mocked the way Sam said that word so casually before putting on his  _ big brother authority _ voice, “you’re barely standing on your own feet. Now sit your ass down so I can look at you.” 

Sam eyed him cautiously, but clearly he was either too in pain or too tired to argue, because he simply sat down on the cot and mumbled, “Jerk.” 

“Bitch.” Dean rebutted without an ounce of hesitation

Sam reached up and unbuttoned his flannel, wincing at every pull of the wound. He carefully and slowly pulled the fabric over his shoulders and down his arms before bundling the shirt into a ball and tossing it to the end of the bed. Dean let out a stunned, sharp breath as his eyes glazed over the wound. It was six inches across, starting at the left side of the distinctive V of Sam’s pelvis and ending jaggedly just below the second ab on his right side. Dean didn’t realize until now that Sam wasn’t merely stabbed, he got completely sliced open. He flicked his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment and thanked whatever god or angel there was looking out for them, because if that slice was just a little deeper or a little higher… 

Dean shook his head, clearing that thought from his brain, and stepped forward towards Sam. He shrugged off his flannel so he was only in the black tee shirt underneath, giving his arms more mobility. With a deep breath, he approached his brother and gently pressed his hand to his left shoulder, silently urging him to lie back. Sam nodded just barely and threw his legs up over the bed and lied down, his upper body slightly raised up in the gurney. 

“How does it look?” Sam asked, trying to keep his voice even despite the pain he was in. 

Dean pulled his lips to one side of his mouth, thinking. He lowered one hand to rest on his brother’s abs right next to the cut, measuring it out. He’d lost a lot of blood. That much was obvious by the trail of dried, dull red blood spreading all over his torso. However, it did look like it managed to miss anything vital, so that was a plus. Still, it looked painful, and blood loss was no problem to overlook. He was honestly surprised Sam hadn’t passed out by now with the sheer amount of the liquid leaving his system. 

“You’ve had worse, but it’s not good. Here, clean it, will you?” Dean tossed his brother a washcloth with whiskey on it as he turned to locate a sewing kit. 

He heard Sam’s harsh breaths echo through the room as he turned his back to him and opened a cabinet. Luckily, the kit was relatively close to the front, so he was able to grab it quickly and turn back around. He watched Sam’s face getting even paler as he shakily dragged the cloth over his abdomen, his teeth clenching tightly together. 

“Blood loss is gonna be the biggest bitch. The knife missed your liver by an inch. You got lucky.” Dean added as he opened the med kit and pulled a needle out, sterilizing it with alcohol, “Still gotta stitch you up though. Cut’s almost six inches across, I don’t know how you’re still conscious” 

“High threshold.” Sam answered as he pulled the cloth away and tossed it to the side, breathing out a sigh of relief. It was short lived, however, because he winced yet again when Dean’s fingers moved a little closer to the cut. 

“Right.” Dean swallowed, trying not to think too hard about exactly why Sam’s threshold was so high. He tied the end of a thin piece of thread at the end of the needle’s eye and positioned his hands above his brother’s abs, “Well, here we go.”

Dean bit his lip as he slid the needle into Sam’s skin. His brother let out a broken, seething breath and slammed his eyes closed. He was quiet for the first few minutes, with Dean whispering quiet assurances, but around a third of the way through, he started making little whimpering noises that set Dean’s whole body on edge. 

“Deep breaths, Sammy.” He encouraged as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Seeing his brother in pain was so much harder than being in it himself. 

Sam grumbled and leaned his head back, “Just hurry it up.”

Dean swallowed around the lump forming in his throat and nodded. He took deep, steady breaths to set an example for Sam and slid the needle back in. 

In and out, In and out. In. Out. In. Out. 

The anger started sweltering up inside of Dean once again when he started approaching the upper end of the wound. In an empire state building sized wave, the realization that Sam was an inch away from dying collapsed over him. The end of the cut was way too damn close to the kid’s liver, and if it had hit it? It would’ve been Sam’s own fault. How the hell was Dean supposed to live with that? If Sam died as a cost to his own stupidity? His brother almost left him grieving the death of the person he loves most in this world because of a stupid decision.  _ What the hell?! _

He finished after what felt like hours. With a flicked wrist, he poured more whiskey over the freshly stitched wound to ensure it was clean. Sam hissed out loud at the agonizing sensation.

“You okay?” Dean asked in a slightly impatient, yet entirely genuine tone as he set the bottle down on the table beside him. 

Sam let out a deep breath and stretched his arms out a little before announcing, “I’m fine.”

“Good.” Dean spoke semi loudly before bringing a hand up and harshly slapping it across Sam’s left cheek. 

Sam jarred, looking up at him with wild eyes and cradling his cheek, “Ow! What the-”

“What the hell were you thinking!” Dean cut him off, face turning red as the anger boiled over.

“What?!” Sam asked, looking extremely confused and ready to match Dean’s anger, pulling his hand away from his face to see a dab of blood on his index finger from where it was pooling at the edge of his lips from Dean’s slap. 

“You ran in front of a fucking knife, Sam!” Dean yelled, making dead eye contact with his brother as he stood up and gestured to him with his hands. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Sam matched Dean’s volume, “And plus, the kids were right there, it was worth the risk!” 

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated huff of breath before reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair and rebutting, “No, the kids were three doors down, you didn’t have to risk anything! You could’ve disarmed him, you could’ve waited for me… a million different things! What you did was stupid!”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking ‘what’s the best option’, Dean.” Sam spoke like he had the upper hand as he sat up on the bed, hiding a grimace as the movement pulled his stitches, “I was thinking about protecting the kids. Sorry if my decision in the heat of the moment wasn’t up to par.”

“That’s crap and you know it.” Dean waved him off with a groan, “There is no ‘heat of the moment’ for hunters. You never hunt if you’re not level-headed. Period. The Sam I was hunting with a month ago knew that, and he wouldn’t have made the call you did tonight. So what the hell changed?” 

Sam ducked his head down a little bit and cleared his throat. Dean straightened his chin, realizing he must have hit a nerve. Good. 

“Nothing changed.” Sam whispered, and yeah, that was not convincing in the least, “Dean, I’m fine.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, “Yeah, and I’m Michael Buble.”

“Dean-” Sam breathed out, looking up at him with those damn puppy dog eyes, begging him not to push any further.

“No. This is where I talk.” Dean cut him off, voice still brimming with anger and concern, “You’ve been acting off for weeks and I haven’t said anything, but this is where I draw the line.” His voice softened a bit as he added, “You almost got killed out there tonight, Sam.”

“Come on.” Sam rolled his eyes, responding as if Dean was completely overreacting. 

The stone cold expression remained on Dean’s face as he pushed, “I’m serious.”

Sam raised his left brow and tilted his head, nonverbally telling his brother ‘yeah right’.

Dean shook his head at how lighthearted his brother was taking this. The kid almost  _ died _ . 

“You put yourself unnecessarily in harm’s way. You’re hunting half-cocked and your compass is off.” Dean listed out, plain and simple, “What if I hadn’t been there?”

“I would’ve been fine. It was just a flesh wound.” Sam shrugged, still talking to Dean like he was an overly concerned mother. 

“And if it was a little deeper?” Dean posed, “Or a little higher and it hit a kidney? Or your liver?”

Sam looked caught for a second, but just as Dean was about to take the win, he responded, “It didn’t.”

Dean let out a frustrated noise and reiterated, “It could have.”

“But it didn’t.” Sam fought back, showing signs of agitation, “Why are we still discussing this?”

Dean exploded. Completely. 

“Because normally you don’t  _ step _ into a hunt without three back-up plans!” He shouted, “But now all of a sudden you’re hunting ‘in the heat of the moment’, and you’re putting yourself in danger because of it!”

Sam flinched back barely visible to the naked eye, but he still remained stubborn. 

“I’m being efficient.”

“No, you’re being reckless. There’s a difference.” Dean tilted his head as his eyes narrowed. 

Sam shrugged again and pulled his lips into his teeth, “Not one that matters.”

“It doesn’t matter?” Dean asked calmly, almost humorously, before yelling even louder than before, “You’re going to get yourself killed!” 

Sam hung his head, and for a moment Dean thought the kid was actually starting to understand him, but then he listened carefully and heard small noises coming from his brother. Was he crying? Fuck, that wasn’t the goal. But then he listened even closer and felt the anger rise like red hot lava up his spine. Sam was fucking laughing. 

“This isn’t a joke.” Dean growled.

“Isn’t it, though?” Sam looked up again, eyeing Dean like he had three separate heads, “Dean, I’m not going to get killed on some grocery errand level ghoul case. I know what I’m doing.”

“Normally I’d agree, but this is different. Your head’s not on straight. I  _ know  _ that you know that.” Dean felt like he was pleading for Sam to understand, “You didn’t expect to get killed on that werewolf hunt we did a few years back, but you did. We thought that was a milk run, remember that? Sammy, you are one of- no, actually- you  _ are  _ the smartest person I’ve ever met. You know better than this.”

“Okay.” Sam sighed, “Number one, I didn’t actually die on that hunt, it was just shock or whatever because of that Corbin guy choking me. And number two, know better than what? We got the hunt done, we saved the kids, we killed the monster. What’s the problem?”

Dean had to turn around and walk away for a second. How could one the smartest hunters on the planet be this freaking stupid? 

He whipped around and approached his brother again, trying to remain calm as his voice steadily grew in volume over the course of his sentence, “I’m not arguing on a technicality, Sam. And the problem is that there’s a six inch gash across your gut! Have you heard a single word I’ve been saying?!”

Sam huffed and looked off to the side, not agreeing with Dean but also not finding the words to fight against him. 

In that moment, Dean started to realize something. Sam knew he was in the wrong, he just wasn’t admitting it. He could read his brother like a damn book and yeah, this was how he acted when he knew he was losing but believed in the reason he was losing for. There was something else going on underneath just the rash decisions. There was a reason for it. Something else was going on. Oh… 

Dean lowered his voice and sat down, “Look, I get it.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief and humor as he questioned, “Do you?” 

“Yeah. Honestly, I’ve been waiting for it to happen to you for a while. Every hunter goes through it- the job stops being fulfilling and there’s no end in sight and… it’s tough as hell. You’re hitting a breaking point, Sammy. I’ve been there, man. Lord knows, I’ve been there. You’re the one that pulled me out of it. I’ll be damned if I don’t do the same for you.” 

Sam smirked a little at how sure Dean sounded. He thought he was right through and through. 

Sam responded simply, “You’re wrong.”

Dean raised a brow, “What?”

“You’re wrong.” Sam repeated, jutting his chin out slightly, “It's not about that. You think it is, but it’s not.”

“Okay,” Dean waved his head a little and leaned back in his chair, “Then enlighten me. What is it about?” 

Sam pushed his lips to one side of his mouth and shifted his eye contact away from Dean, looking down at his hands. 

“Sam.” Dean pressed, tired of being patient. 

“You know what,” Sam laughed, but it was so forced that Dean couldn’t help but cringe, “Nevermind. You’re probably right. It’s just a breaking point. I’ll get over it.”

“Uh-uh, buddy. Not that easy.” Dean shook his head, refusing to give an inch.

Sam sighed and shrugged, looking to the side for a second before bringing his gaze back to Dean’s, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“How about you start with the truth?” Dean spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sam rolled his eyes, clearly just as frustrated with Dean’s persistence as Dean was with his stubbornness. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, crumbling a little as pressure gathered at his wound. He gripped the bed tightly and made to move away from it, “I’m not doing this right now. My side hurts like a bitch and we’re both tired. Let’s just call it a night.” 

Dean watched with awed disbelief as Sam walked passed him to the door. He jumped up from his chair and yelled, “Do not walk away from me!” 

Just as Sam placed a foot in the doorframe, and turned to enter the hallway, a whoosh sounded through the room and they both paused. 

“Dean. Sam.” 

Both men jerked around to locate where the voice was coming from. Cas stood behind Dean and diagonally across from Sam, eyebrows furrowed and lips drawn in a tight frown.

“Cas, what the hell! Warn a guy!” Dean yelled, his blood pressure already way too high to alter his tone. 

Sam took the opportunity to abort, turning the corner and simply saying “Night.” 

Dean made to follow him, yelling, “Sam!”

Cas was suddenly behind him and had a hand on his shoulder, speaking with a scarily serious voice, “Let him go.” 

“What?” Dean whipped around to look at him, confusion all over his face, “No, he’s-”

Cas cut him off with urgency in his tone, “Dean. Let him go.” 

“Why?!” Dean yelled, but then he heard the distant sound of footsteps climbing the stairs and he sighed in frustration, “Wonderful.” 

“Something is severely wrong with the bunker.” Cas spoke, eyes sliding over the room as he walked around Dean, completely ignoring his concerns. 

“Well, hello Cas, I’m great, how are you?” Dean let out in a single breath, his voice falsely high and airey. He then sat down on the chair and reached for the whiskey, “I’m gonna get whiplash.”

“I sense a dark energy here.” Cas once again ignored Dean’s comments to speak his mind.

Dean took a long sip of the whiskey before placing it down, taking a deep breath, and asking, “The hell you talking about?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Cas narrowed his brows, bringing his eyes to meet Dean’s, “but the makeup of the air is unstable.” 

“Makeup?” Dean inquired, “Like the oxygen?”

“No, that’s the chemical structure. This has to do with the spiritual makeup. The energies in the air are tilted.” 

“Spiritual?” Dean asked, straightening his back. 

“Ghosts. There are hundreds of them covering every square foot of earth you walk on. Only the ones that become uber powerful or vengeful are visible to the bare eye, but they are constantly here. Something is off in the bunker, they’ve cleared away.”

“Okay, creepy.” Dean tilted his head, “Why?” 

“I don’t know, but ghosts only scatter on a mass scale like this in the presence of great evil.” Cas swallowed, like he was nervous, “Whatever is here, or was here… it isn't good.”

Dean looked off to the side and pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. He looked down, contemplating, before asking quietly, “Shouldn’t Sam be here to hear this?” 

“I don’t believe that Sam’s presence while we discuss this would be wise. The energy I felt when I appeared… it almost completely subliminized when Sam walked out of the room. I think it may be attached to him somehow. Either that, or it’s following him. Neither option is good.” 

Dean felt an initial wave of  _ panicfearworry _ but it quickly faded into an almost relief. It made sense. And it meant that everything off about Sam… it wasn’t his fault. His brother might actually be okay. 

“You don’t seem surprised.” Cas knit his brows, once again conveying a cocktail of confusion and worry.

Dean felt the guilt wash over him. If he had realized that something was seriously wrong with Sam earlier, they could’ve figured this out much sooner. 

He played with his fingers nervously as he replied, “Sam’s been off for weeks. I just thought he was stressed, or grieving…” 

“You couldn’t possibly have known it was something else. The important thing is that we know now.” Cas soothed him, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. 

Dean took another drag of the whiskey, trying to wash everything about this situation away, “Yeah, and now that we do know, where do we go from here? I’m not putting my brother in danger if we can help it.” 

“Well, I can’t do anything if I don’t know what I’m dealing with.” Cas announced, “First, we need to figure out what or who is attached to Sam.”

“Or following him.” Dean added, almost hopefully. Neither option was good, but following was certainly better than possessing. 

“Or following him.” Cas repeated affirmatively. 

“Alright, how do we do that?” Dean asked. 

He closed his eyes for a moment as he waited for Cas’ response. The exhaustion was starting to get to him. Not two hours ago he was watching his brother almost die, and now he’s trying to figure out how to untether a spirit from him? He just wanted one freaking day where everything was normal. One freaking day where he could just sleep a full night. Just one. 

“Unpleasantly.” Cas answered remorsefully. 

Dean ducked his head. Of course it was unpleasant. It was always unpleasant. Especially when it came to Sam. Why did Dean have to watch his brother suffer so much? What could he have possibly done in a past life to deserve the amount of torture he’s had fo go through in this one? So he decided; he’s not hurting Sam. Not anymore.

“No. No. We are not hurting my brother. Not if we aren’t sure.” 

Cas sighed in frustration, “We cannot be sure unless we do. I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t want to hurt him either, and I will heal him, after, but… if I am right, and there is something linked to him, and we do nothing? It will do more harm to him than anything I could ever do.” 

Dean blinked his eyes shut to keep any unwanted tears at bay. He started to whisper, “I just…” 

“I know.” Cas interrupted softly, “He’s your brother, and you don’t want him to feel pain. I understand. If you don’t want to watch, you don’t have to.” 

“Yeah, I do.” Dean stiffened, biting his lip as he admitted it. If there was anything worse than knowing Sam was being tortured, it was not being there with him while it happened. He could at least be a rock for his brother, keep him strong and focused. So, he repeated, “I do.”

Cas watched him for a moment, worry on his face. He didn’t like this anymore than Dean did. 

When he spoke, his voice was hesitant and almost subdued, “Okay. We need to lay salt lines at the door and any windows before Sam knows what we’re doing. We’ll have to be quick- not give the spirit any chance to escape. Sam will be panicked, asking questions. We need to tie him up so he doesn’t mess with any of the salt lines. Do you understand?” 

“Yeah,” Dean bit out, not liking the plan one bit but admitting it was necessary, “yeah I got it.” 

Cas once again spoke softly, reiterating, “There is only one chance here. There is no room for error. I will tie Sam up while you salt the door and windows.” 

Dean nodded, thought to himself for a moment, and then stood up. He put the whiskey back down and turned to look at Cas, sending a silent message that it was go time. The angel nodded once and then followed Dean out the door, both making a conscious effort to keep their footsteps quiet. It wasn’t a long walk, and Dean was thankful that Cas was able to poof a container of salt into his hand. He really wasn’t in the mood for a detour. 

There was a beam of yellow light peeking out from the bottom of Sam’s door and Dean was grateful for that. At least he didn’t have to wake his brother up just to tie his hands behind his back and trap him in his room. Talk about causing panic… 

Dean was thinking a silent approach. Simple. He’d go in first, quietly. He’d calm Sam down, and then he’d signal for Cas to come in, and-

Cas was barging into the door with a loud bang. Dean cursed out loud… so much for that plan. 

“Do you ever knock?” Sam immediately yelled, whipping around from where he was sitting at his desk. After a few seconds, when he truly took in the sight of the two men rummaging into his room, he yelled, “What the hell are you doing!”

Cas was approaching him in a matter of seconds, grabbing his hands and tugging them behind his back as Dean rushed to salt the door. 

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Cas apologized as Sam continued to squirm and curse. 

“Cas! Dean! What is going on?!” He yelled again, struggling out of Cas’ grip and standing up. 

“Trust us Sam, sit down.” Dean pushed, voice shaky as he moved onto the windows. 

“Trust you?” Sam’s eyebrows skyrocketed as he continued to fight against Cas, “Is that salt? What the hell-” 

“Shut up for a second!” Dean yelled, impatience and wordy overriding his common sense. 

Cas pushed Sam into the chair, this time using his angel strength. 

Sam looked up at the angel like he had shot him before refocusing on Dean, “I’ll shut up after you tell m-”

He went silent. His mouth hung open but he couldn’t make noise. He wiggled in the restraints Cas finally wrapped around his wrists. Dean narrowed his brows and turned to look at Cas as he finished salting the last window. 

“What’d you do?!”

“I shut him up.” Cas answered simply and Sam jerked his head in annoyance, “You’re welcome.”

“Okay.” Dean spoke as he put the container of salt down and turned to his brother, who was giving him the bitchiest face he’d ever seen, “What do we do now?”

“Cas.” He pushed when the angel didn’t answer right away.

Cas turned to glare at Dean and then he returned to facing Sam and snapped his fingers. 

Sam took a deep breath and coughed just barely before speaking up, “What the hell is going on?! Why are you tying me up? There better be a half decent explanation for this.” He yanked at the chains holding him back and winced as he pulled his stitches too hard, “Dammit!”

Dean flinched at the sound of his brother in pain and asked with a grimace, “You okay?” 

“Dean.” Cas called for the older brother’s attention before Sam could respond. 

“What now?” Dean whined, slumping his shoulders.

“It’s not a spirit.” 

“What?” Both Winchesters said at the same time, for two different reasons. 

“Sam, just shut up for a second.” Dean squinted his eyes shut and pleaded with his brother before turning to Cas, “What do you mean it’s not a spirit?”

“I mean, if it was a ghost, there would be signs. EMF, Ectoplasm, static, anything… but there’s none of that here. It’s not a spirit.” 

“Okay, then what is it?” Dean inquired, desperate to just for once get a straightforward answer. 

“I’m not sure.”

Dean sighed. Of course that was too much to ask.

“But I have a hunch.” Cas added after a few long seconds, walking up to Sam and snapping his fingers once again, leaving Sam tongueless, “There is only one other source of energy that is powerful enough to combat spirits.” 

“Energy source?” Dean knit his brows and looked down for a moment to contemplate. Then suddenly his head shot up as the realization hit him, “You mean his soul.” 

Cas nodded solemnly and Sam opened and closed his mouth like a hungry hungry hippos toy, unable to voice his concerns. He continued yanking on the chains, shifting his gaze from Dean to Cas over and over again, trying to get through to one of them. 

“Why the hell would his soul be warding off spirits?” Dean asked, gesturing to Sam.

Cas eyed him cautiously, like he knew the answer but didn’t want to voice it out loud. That certainly wasn’t good. 

The angel’s adam’s apple bobbed as he fully approached Sam. His eyes were sad as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Sam’s eyebrows knitted together and he pushed himself as far back into the chair as he could, clearly fearing whatever was coming. Dean straightened out and his eyes widened as Cas reached forward.

“What are you doing?” He asked, fear filling his tone.

Cas didn’t bat an eye at Dean as he jerked his hand forward and impaled Sam’s gut, the area glowing as his hand moved magically inside. Dean had seen him do it once before, and he had hoped he'd never have to see it again. Once was plenty. He slammed his eyes closed and turned his head away as Sam squirmed in agony, unable to scream. 

Cas’ face grew more and more concerned by the second as his hand rummaged Sam’s abdomen. Sam was breathing harshly out loud, sweat dripping down his neck and a bright red flush creeping up his cheeks. When Cas finally pulled his hand out, Sam’s head dropped to his chest and he hung completely limp, only held up by the chains around his wrists. 

“Sam?!” Dean rushed over to his brother and kneeled by his side, reaching up to cradle his face. His eyes were still open, but they were barely slits. He looked absolutely demolished. Dean turned his focus to Cas and yelled, “What’d you do?!” 

“Dean…” Cas’ voice was broken and his expression was torn. Dean felt all the anger wash away and his blood ran cold.

“What?” He swallowed anxiously, keeping a hand on Sam’s cheek, “What’s wrong?”

“His soul…” Cas sighed, eyebrows dropping in remorse, “It’s nothing but jagged pieces.”

Dean felt the bile rise in his throat as he pushed forward and asked, “What does that mean?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. His soul was completely charred after hell, but it healed over time, for the most part. It’s almost as if it’s disintegrating again- reverting back to how it was after the cage.”

Dean’s hand dropped from Sam’s face as the shock and fear poured over him, “How is that possible?”

“It’s his hope. It’s gone.” Cas whispered.

Dean swallowed, “That’s what Chuck said.”

“And he was right. The human soul is reliant on hope, on perseverance. Sam is in such a hopeless and devastated state internally that his soul is crippling. And the dark, crumpled energy it’s exuding has pushed all of the other spirits away. They cannot exist in such a brutal biome.”

Dean’s eyes drooped in sadness as he turned to look at Sam. He was still hanging his head low, but he was more aware now. His eyes were slightly more open and his mouth was drawn in a tight frown. He made eye contact with Dean and moved his mouth to speak, but sighed when no words came out. He dangled his head again in defeat.

“Cas, let him speak.” Dean instructed quietly as he placed a hand on Sam’s bicep.

Dean never saw Cas nod, but he knew he complied, because the next time Sam opened his mouth, words did indeed fall out.

“My… my hands.” He whispered, voice gravelly and low. His breaths were rugged and shaky, “Please… untie my hands.”

Dean raised his brows and frowned, turning to Cas as if for permission. The angel didn’t waver for a second, just blinked his eyes once and the chains restraining Sam’s wrists disappeared. Dean immediately turned back to his brother and felt his heart ache when Sam immediately used his newly freed hands to clutch the wound on his side. He clenched his teeth together as he pressed against it.

“I’m so sorry, Sammy.” Dean whispered, only for his brother’s ears.

Sam just shook his head, “Not your fault.”

“Sam.” Cas called, “I promise we’ll figure this out. You’re gonna be okay.”

Sam huffed a little before turning to Dean and teasing, voice still raw, “I told you… I told you it wasn’t just a… a breaking point.”

Dean tilted his head and teased back, “You really think this is the time to say ‘I told you so’?”

Sam shrugged halfheartedly.

“Hey,” Dean grasped Sam’s jaw and turned his head to look at him, “We are going to figure this out. We are.”

“Well can we figure it out later?” Sam whined and leaned back in the chair, clearly exhausted. 

Dean sighed and leaned back on his heels, “Later it is.”


End file.
